


as all good things

by eldritchIdeologist



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Panic Attacks, but not really, only mentioned at one point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 14:38:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12434895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritchIdeologist/pseuds/eldritchIdeologist
Summary: It happens as all good, important things happen - unexpectedly and unplanned.





	as all good things

It happens as all good, important things happen - unexpectedly and unplanned. 

* * *

It’s four months after the Squip fiasco when Jeremy sits in the cafeteria at lunch and chews on a sandwich, his whole body foggy with exhaustion. Michael is next to him, headphones on (except that the right one is nudged a bit off of his ear so he can still listen if someone talks to him), and he’s nodding off as well. Jeremy would be concerned, but-- well. Pretty much everyone was in the same situation, what with the end of the school year looming over them. 

The sandwich is barely going down. Jeremy wonders if food is worth all of this effort.

“Yo, guys,” Rich speaks up, and Jeremy looks up, blinking, and can't help the tiny little burst of satisfaction at knowing even the ever-so-perfect popular kids look like they've been hit by a bus. Not maliciously, of course. They’re still his friends. 

“Hnm?”

“I was thinkin’,” Rich stifles a yawn, breathing out through his nose as he pulls a face that has Christine snorting out a giggle. “I was thinkin’... we should have a pre-finals party.”

Even Jake seems a bit wary at the idea, even if Jeremy can see the way his eyes light up at the mention of a party. He looks conflicted. 

“I think I prefer a pre-finals funeral,” Michael mutters, and Jeremy snorts, looking over at his best friend. It’s an immediate reaction - like there’s a magnet pulling at him to look over, like gravitation, like a sun; he looks over because he always does, because he’s a little bit delirious with sleep deprivation and Michael’s voice is like honey.

Jeremy can't help it. Can't help the warmth that blossoms in his chest either as though he’s seeing Michael for the first time in months, even though they’ve been together pretty much all morning. 

“Aw, c’mon, it'll be fun!” Rich whines, slumping over the table, and Jake pats his shoulder.

“Sorry, man,” he says, softly, and there's sounds of agreement from everybody else on the table. Except for Brooke - Jeremy thinks she might be asleep where she’s leaning on Chloe.

“We’ll just end up getting wasted and then bombing all the finals,” Jenna says, and Rich is pouting at Jake, and Jeremy knows that Rich can get anything he wants when he does that, so he nips it in the bud.

“We can have a post-finals party,” he suggests, successfully averting Jake’s attention from Rich and to himself. Michael gives a small cheer next to him, and Jeremy has to lean his chin in his palm and physically hold off a smile. 

“Fine,” Rich huffs after a second, and then it's done, and Jenna starts talking about what Madeline had done last weekend, and Jeremy is content to just sit there and listen.

Things have been good, like this. It had been a little difficult, at first - him and Rich had it the worst, after coming out of the hospital, still fucked up over everything they’d gone through and everything they’d done. Mostly, though, everyone had been relieved it was over. Jeremy could see it in the way Michael slumped in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to his hospital bed - not entirely relaxed, still afraid, still watching out for the gap Jeremy had created between them, but his shoulders weren't tense and his smiles were genuine. Could see it in the way Chloe and Brooke stuck closer together, in the way Christine still smiled and laughed loudly and had rad gigantic feelings. Could see it in the way they all gravitated towards one another, a big mismatched group of kids. And Jeremy felt like, maybe, if he tried very very hard, things would be okay.

And things were okay. Rich asked them-- well, no. Rich demanded that Jeremy and Michael sit with them during lunch, and it had been a bit awkward at first, but everything they’d gone through had been stronger than the awkwardness. Chloe and Jake hadn't really done much during that Halloween party, Jeremy learned. Not for lack of trying - it’s just that, Chloe explains,  _ we weren't that interested anymore _ , and she thinks she’s surreptitious in the way she glances at Brooke out of the corner of her eye when Brooke isn't looking.

Christine and Jeremy hadn't done much, either. After he got out of the hospital, Jeremy asked her to go out with him - she agreed, smiling and kind and blushing, and Jeremy had been happy, and she had been happy. For a few weeks, anyways.

But they had kept waiting for a fluttering in their chests, for the irresistible urge to look at one another, to hold each other’s hands, to soothe and to protect and to love. It never came.

In the end, they remained friends. Christine was incredible, Jeremy acknowledged that openly about as much as anybody else (meaning all the time), and she was an amazing friend. But, really, looking back on it, it felt like more of a formality; asking her out for closure’s sake, for some crush residue that he was still holding onto.

Besides. Jeremy felt a little dumb when Christine pointed out the way he’d look at Michael, when she laughed at him and he smiled sheepishly and they decided they weren’t meant to be together. They belonged with someone else.

But things were okay, now, Jeremy thought. Leaning against Michael’s side as he leaned right back against Jeremy, listening to Chloe make distasteful noises at the story Jenna was telling about Madeline, listening to Rich’s occasional comments and Jake’s amused little laughs.

Things were okay.

* * *

 

It happens, as all good, important things happen - in a car at night.

* * *

 

“Are you sure you’re not too tired to drive?” Jeremy asks, climbing into the passenger seat of Michael’s P.T. Cruiser. 

“‘M all good,” Michael says, rubbing at his eyes as he plops down in the driver’s seat and pointedly ignores the look Jeremy gives him. 

“If we die, it’s on you,” Jeremy says, and Michael just grins and shakes his head and turns on the engine.

It’s dark outside as they pull out of Christine’s driveway - they’d agreed to study for history at her place, a class they all shared, but then Michael had started talking about this documentary he saw a few days ago,  _ and they were basically living the same life!! How fucked up is that?  _ And then they hadn't really gotten much work done at all.

It's quiet in the car, but it's not uncomfortable. It's nice. They're both tired, their eyes and limbs heavy, and there’s Bob Marley’s voice floating out of the car’s speakers, and it's warm. 

“Hey, Jer,” Michael is the first to break the relative silence. Jeremy makes an inquisitive noise as he turns to look at his friend instead of zoning out against the window. “You know how Rich was talkin’ about a party?”

Jeremy frowns.

“Yeah, but-- are you into the idea?” Michael isn't a big fan of parties, anymore, and guilt shoots through Jeremy every time he thinks about it, like a bullet. Like a million little splinters shoved into his chest simultaneously. 

“No, no,” Michael smiles like the idea is ridiculous, “But I thought the two of us could chill out, play some games, get stoned in my basement,” he gives Jeremy a quick glance, a flash of a grin. Jeremy pretends like his heart doesn't skip a beat at the sight. “What d’you think?”

“What, like, now?” Jeremy stifles a yawn. He doubts they’ll even manage to stay awake for long enough to boot up any game system, let alone do anything else.

“...Yeah, that's fair,” Michael huffs, good-natured as he turns into his own driveway. “Wanna stay over anyway?”

“When do I not?” Jeremy smiles, because he’s tired and a little bit reckless and Michael is his best friend, and Jeremy is greedy in the way he wants things he loves. In the way he wants to take up all of Michael’s time, to show him how much he means, greedy in the way he wants all of Michael’s warmth and light and love for himself. He doesn't deserve it, he knows. But his heart has never listened to his brain. 

* * *

It happens, as all good, important things happen - in the middle of the night.

* * *

 

Things are okay between the two of them. Things are good. Michael had been stand-offish the first few weeks after Jeremy got out of the hospital, had been wary, and Jeremy couldn't blame him at all. Couldn't help but feel like he was getting off easy when Michael would still smile at him in that beautiful way he does, when Michael would bring him Mountain Dew Red and sit with him, when Michael showed him a new cool album he had found or told him about a new game he was excited about, despite everything Jeremy had done.

He was so scared of fucking up again. It was worse than the fear of the Squip returning - that made his breath quicken and his hands get clammy and it made him throw up, on the worst of days, sitting on the bathroom floor and trying his best not to cry too much. It was bad. It was terrifying.

But the fear of hurting Michael again? It was a million times worse. It was constant.

It was better now. Still not perfect, still not the way things had been before - probably never will be the same, Jeremy thinks, and those are the times he regrets the most; but it's better. Jeremy still apologises profusely. Still sends random texts to Michael, just to remind him that Jeremy loves and appreciates and treasures him, that he’s never leaving again, that he’s an idiot for ever leaving in the first place.

Michael calls him a sappy doofus.

(Michael saves all the messages and looks at them when he’s sad and Jeremy’s asleep.)

Overall, though, things are good. They play video games, they hang off of each other, they tease and mock and grin affectionately; they hold each other when it gets bad and sleep over so often they no longer know which clothes belong to whom.

* * *

 

So it happens. Jeremy follows Michael inside, down the steps into the basement, and pulls their beanbags close enough that they form one big lumpy beanbag. They both collapse on it at the same time; they both giggle at each other.

“Want some music?” Michael asks, voice soft and tired, facing Jeremy, and--

They hadn't even bothered to turn on the light, and Jeremy feels like there’s something far too big inside his chest with the way the moonlight from the window falls on Michael’s face.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, and his head is resting on the beanbag and he can't look away. He'll blame it on being tired, if Michael questions him.

“Mm,” Michael hums, and takes a second to just sit in the beanbag, and then heaves himself up with a sigh to turn on some jams. Jeremy mourns the lack of Michael next to him for a second before he turns his head and spots a DS on the floor. When he opens it, Animal Crossing is already running on it.

“What’cha got there?” Michael asks when he falls back into the beanbag, leaning in closer to Jeremy and pulling up a playlist on his laptop.

“Animal Crossing,” Jeremy murmurs. “You’re in so much debt.”

The music that floats out of the laptop’s speakers is deep and somewhat hollow; not haunting, but the beat settles in Jeremy’s bones and makes his brain buzz even more than it already is. It feels… heavy.

Jeremy likes it.

“I know, dude, that's why I abandoned it,” Michael shifts closer, the laptop left on the ground. Jeremy tilts the DS so Michael can see better; Michael puts his head on Jeremy’s shoulder; Jeremy loses his breath and masks it with a yawn.

Michael is so warm. Like starlight. Like the sun.

Jeremy loves him.

“I dunno why people like this game so much,” he mutters, “it’s just… furry capitalism.”

Michael laughs, shaking with it a little against Jeremy, and Jeremy thinks it might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. He can't help the smile that takes over his face. 

“You should like it, though, ‘cause you’re a furry too, Jer-Bear,” Michael teases. Jeremy doesn't have to look over because he can hear the smile in his voice. He thinks he might be masochistic with the way his stomach does a flip at the nickname, no matter how many times Michael uses it. He should hate it.

Instead, it feels like a lifeline.

“Shut up, I’m not a furry,” he murmurs, pretending to be grumpy, because it’s his last resort. Michael, who has a penchant for making these things hard for Jeremy, snuggles in.

  
“I’m just teasing, _Jer-Bear_ ,” he cooes, and his voice trails off sweetly, and Jeremy’s resolve crumbles.

“I love it when you call me that,” Jeremy says, without thinking, and his fingers freeze on the DS buttons when his sluggish brain catches up with his mouth, and he thinks he should be properly awake now what with how his heart has seized up in his chest.

“Aww,  _ someone’s _ feeling affectionate,” Michael teases, and Jeremy feels the tension melt away from his muscles. Thank God that Michael hadn't thought anything weird.

“Sure am,” he murmurs, still smiling, god-- he can’t stop smiling. Not around Michael.

Like the sun, Jeremy thinks, and feels suddenly too tired to even play the game. So he lets his arms fall in his lap and his head fall back against the beanbag, and he turns it just so to look at Michael.

Michael is already staring at him. Smiling, soft in that special way that only Michael can, where it reaches his eyes and their colour isn't brown anymore, it's warm. It's warmth in its purest form.

“Tired?” He asks, their faces far too close, and Jeremy hums, affirmative. Can't bring himself to pull away. Too scared of fucking up, but too tired to respond to the fear.

It’s choking him a little anyway. Bubbling away right under his lungs. 

“You?”

“Yeah, me too,” Michael closes his eyes for a second, and Jeremy is all too aware of Michael’s steady breaths against his jaw, his neck, of the way Michael’s cheek is squishes against Jeremy’s shoulder.

_ We should sleep,  _ is what Jeremy wants to say, but nothing comes out, because Michael opens his eyes again. And the music thrums inside Jeremy’s ribcage, and his heart with it, haphazardly trying to find a rhythm, and Michael’s glasses are kinda crooked, and there’s the moonlight again, melting over Michael in a dance of soft light and shadows. Pooling in his eyes, like magic, and Jeremy thinks he might be glowing a little bit. He probably isn't.

He might as well be.

“You okay, Jer-Bear?” Michael asks, frowning a little, because Jeremy is just staring at him, the DS still barely in his hands, his eyes glazed over. Like he’s halfway to somewhere else in his mind. 

_ Don't let go of love, ‘cause it might not come back, and life is very very short,  _ a voice sings, heavy and blending with the music, and Jeremy finds himself believing it. Finds himself reaching up to smooth out the frown between Michael’s eyebrows.

“I love you,” he finds himself saying, small and quiet and at peace, even with the tightness in his lungs, even with the squeeze at his stomach, even with the tremble in his hand. Michael blinks at him.

“You wha…?” He says, a little bit dumbfounded, and lifts his head to be able to look at Jeremy properly. Jeremy’s hand falls away from his face. They're still tantalizingly close.

“I said I love you,” Jeremy repeats, smiling, because Michael’s got this adorably confused expression on his face, and Jeremy isn't even surprised at how he can make him calm even in something like this. How just the sight of his eyes and the sound of his voice can keep Jeremy’s panic and fear at bay.

“It’s okay if you don't,” Jeremy continues, then, his eyes glancing away for a second before returning to Michael. His brain feels sluggish and awake at the same time, somehow. The music is quiet, but it feels loud. “Love me, I mean. I just wanted you-- to know that. I love you.”

It's easier to say it with every time he does. His voice shakes only a little bit, which Jeremy counts as a success. 

Michael is still staring at him.

“Michael?” Jeremy asks, voice quiet, and-- this wasn’t thought out. His lungs squeeze harder than they already have before Jeremy wills himself to sit still. Stay calm. It's your best friend. It's Michael. It's okay.

Michael snaps out of it, eventually, and Jeremy can feel himself visibly relaxing when Michael grins. Tired, yes, but happy. Jeremy knows him well enough to be able to tell every variation of Michael’s smiles.

“You love me,” Michael says, breathes out, disbelieving, and Jeremy hums in agreement. “Like, love-love?” He asks. Jeremy can hear the hope in his voice. It makes him giggle.

He just now notices how warm his face is.

“Yes, Michael, love-love,” he murmurs, and lifts a hand to tap Michael’s arm, looking down at the floor instead of staring at the boy before him. It's overwhelming. “Say something.”

“I--- I just. Wow,” Michael says, and laughs, and runs a hand through his hair, brings Jeremy’s eyes back to himself with the motion. The moonlight is like a halo around him now.

“Wow?”

“Wow, yeah, I--- you love me.” He trails off in a laugh, a giddy little bubbly thing that makes Jeremy smile involuntarily. “I… love you too.” 

Jeremy’s breath catches in his throat. He stares at Michael. Michael is grinning at him, and he looks so goddamn happy-- so heavenly in the half-dark, so incredibly magical, transcendent, and he says  _ I love you too,  _ and Jeremy doesn't need him to repeat it to know he means it.

“Yeah?” He wants him to repeat it anyway.

“Yeah,” Michael leans in closer. “I love you too.”

Jeremy’s giddy laugh is swallowed up and cut short when Michael’s lips press against his, and it's all too much and all at once and it's so  _ good.  _ And Michael moves his mouth, just so, like they were meant to be, like it was  _ destiny,  _ and Jeremy’s hands fly up to his hair and tangle in there--

_ Where they belong,  _ Jeremy thinks, wildly, and kisses Michael. Moves away for just a split second to shift and tilt his head and Michael chases him, and Jeremy feels something shudder inside him at the sight, and then they're kissing again.

And so it happens. As most good, important things do - in the middle of the night, to a heavy beat and moonlight, half-sunken into a pair of bean bags, minds a little numb and buzzing and incredibly, stupidly happy.

* * *

 

They wake up the next morning to each other, holding on like their lives depend on it, and Michael presses his lips to Jeremy’s forehead. He can barely open his eyes, but he’s already grinning.

Jeremy has enough energy in the morning to become properly flustered, to grin and whine high in his throat and hide his face in Michael’s neck right where he can feel his laugh vibrating as it dances out of his mouth.

And it doesn't matter that they slept sort of sideways and in their clothes from yesterday. It doesn't matter that Michael’s glasses dug against his face all night and it doesn't matter that they've both got pillow prints in their cheeks. Because they're grinning and Jeremy’s hands are in Michael’s hair, because Michael nudges their noses together and Jeremy asks, quietly, “Can I kiss you?” Because Michael answers with a smiling kiss instead of words.

Because it happens, as all good, important things happen, against fear and anxiety and doubts, under a moonlit window and in each other’s arms.

Jeremy wouldn't have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> before anyone asks: the song i mentioned is not a real song, but you can probably find something similar if you look around tbh  
> aight it's 2am bye  
> tumblr: spaceturdle


End file.
